Regrets of the Unregretting
by Yami-sama42
Summary: He finally understands what he meant now but it changes nothing. What's been done is done. It was far too late. He only wished he had said something sooner. Drabble. Character study (of sorts). (Set between chapters 423 and 424)


_Notes: Well, this was kind of unexpected, but a nice change of pace. I have no idea what I was trying to accomplish when I first started writing, but the words just kept pouring out so I had to keep going. It's a little short, but I've not written for Bleach for like two years so I'm glad I even wrote anything (not to mention I've had this horrible awful terrible writer's block for what feels like forever). Hopefully, I can use this as a way to get back into the swing of writing for the series again (and writing in general, really). I actually really like this and there are actually a couple of other things that I wish I could have included, but the story is fine as it is. You get to see some pretty deep character reflection going on here. It was kind of difficult at times to keep this centered around Ichigo without using names while keeping it clear that this is about Ichigo (and Zangetsu of course, but he doesn't actually show up in the story). The whole thing was written in about 30-40 minutes maybe (in total, I had to look at the manga and the wiki for the exact line (so I didn't screw it up) and then I ended up reading the entire Ichigo versus Aizen final fight again) and written to the Bleach Best Trax album. The music is great and an amazing inspiration (and it helps that they were on the show, too). I'll let you read it now; enjoy and hopefully I'll be able to write more in the future. (ps: unregretting is not a word whoops oh well)_

_Warnings: None._

_Timeline: Several months after Ichigo loses his Shinigami powers, and consequently several more months before the Fullbring arc_

**Regrets of the Unregretting**

"_What I wanted to protect… was you."_

The words plagued his mind constantly for weeks afterward, the mental image that followed never failing in leaving him weak in the knees and panting for breath. He'd dream about the whole thing, reliving the moment when everything at once felt complete but incomplete, yet left millions of questions, questions that would never be answered anymore, questions that would haunt him until the day that he left the world to reunite with his destiny. When he was alone, as he was quite often these days, he found himself trying to go back there only to come back to himself feeling even worse than before. He tried less and less often until he eventually gave up completely.

They could all see it; he knew they could. They never said as much, but he didn't miss the occasional glances they would shoot in his direction when they thought he wasn't looking. He was worrying them, and the thought made him feel even worse, but he literally couldn't stop himself from feeling the way he was. It only made the looks they gave him even worse, and thus it affected him negatively as well. It was a self destructive cycle if there ever was one.

More often than not, he found himself feeling lost, lonely, confused. He felt weak. He lost whatever he once had and now he only had a tiny sliver of what he had. It was enough for him to live, if barely, but not enough for him to become what he once was, who he once was. It was demoralizing, but he just had to deal with it. He made his choice and he knew what he was getting himself into. He knew the consequences clearly.

No regrets.

Somehow that thought alone made him feel even worse about the entire ordeal.

He felt betrayed, abandoned, angry… But he knew these feelings were even stronger in the reverse, working against him, causing him more grief than anything in his entire life, even more so than the one unspeakable incident from the distant past that shaped the kind of person he'd grown into. It was his fault.

It was entirely his own doing, and he just had to get over it.

It wasn't pseudo-guilt like he was used to feeling. That he could handle. He could comprehend within his own mind the feeling of being the cause for hardships when he knew deep down that it wasn't entirely his own mistake. This feeling, this deep, dark, brooding feeling of oppressive, crushing guilt and blame fell heavily on him, suffocating him in its intensity. Nothing else in the entire world had been more his own doing. He knew what he had gotten himself into from the very beginning. Maybe that was what made him feel even worse.

The problem was that in reality, he didn't know what he was getting into, not really, and it was own impulsive, obstinate, rash actions that left himself in the worst state he'd even been in throughout his entire life, and he'd seen enough tragedy to break four men thrice his age.

He was at the point where he was at once worried and completely unconcerned about the condition he'd pushed himself into. But that wasn't exactly right, not in the way that he'd led himself to believe, not really. He'd done what he'd done out of urgent necessity however much he himself may or may not have wanted to. He had to do whatever it took even if it hurt him more in the long run. But he didn't care, did he? Was he really so selfish as to care about his own feelings against the feelings and thoughts and ideals and lives of the many?

No, he didn't care.

Not for himself.

He cared for those he protected.

He cared for those he left behind.

He cared for those he had to look forward to.

He cared for that face, with those eyes, those crying eyes, eyes that pleaded and begged with him to consider other alternatives – what alternatives? There was nothing left but the painful truth – even as sad, concerned, worried, proud eyes ran him through with the one thing he had left to offer.

As the unyielding black blade cut through flesh, blood running down, staining perfect, pure, innocent white with harsh, angry, truthful red, those eyes, those sad eyes filled with so much agony, so much pride, the overwhelming want, need, burning desire to protect, he spoke those words, cutting sharper and infinitely more painful than the weapon held in his hands.

"_What I wanted to protect… was you, Ichigo."_

When they last parted ways, those eyes were dry. They were proud. They were sad. They were happy. They were resigned. They were untouchable.

He wished he could feel the same. He regretted not saying anything.

"_Farewell… Ichigo…"_

He wished he could have said goodbye.

"_Look forward. Move forward and never stop."_

He wished he could but he couldn't.

"_No regrets."_

He regrets it.

_Please take the time to leave a review as they are much appreciated. I hope to write more soon, an d maybe revise what I've already written for my other Bleach story(s). Thank you for reading._


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